


PROUD OF YOU

by loststolenandfound



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Eating Disorders, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-09
Updated: 2013-09-09
Packaged: 2017-12-26 01:38:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/960070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loststolenandfound/pseuds/loststolenandfound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My fictional version of the aftermath of the game Louis was involved in today.</p>
            </blockquote>





	PROUD OF YOU

**Author's Note:**

> I watched the match today and I have never been more proud of Louis. I was disgusted by the so called One Direction fans on twitter though who sent horrible abuse to the player who tackled Louis. It is football after all and tackles like that happen. But my heart actually hurt when I saw some of the things people were saying about Louis and then I read a twitlonger that someone at the game wrote and it just made me so sad. 
> 
> Louis took part for charity. Fuck it's sad when people can't accept that he just wanted to have a fun day out and help raise some money for a Great Cause. 
> 
> I'm blabbing and I'll stop now, please let me know what you think if you can spare a minute for a comment. Thank you. 
> 
> Final thing: I have briefly mentioned some tweets towards the end of the story - it disgusts me to say that these are ACTUAL tweets that I saw over and over again today. 
> 
> Fuck people are cruel.

Louis feels their eyes on him as he chases the ball but if you asked him to tell you exactly what happened in the minutes after he feels a body collide with him he wouldn’t be able to tell you. All he knows, in that moment as he’s breathing in the grass, was that he _has_ to get up. He can’t just lie there. There had been enough boos and chants and hisses for him beforehand for him to know that lying on the floor would just be asking for more.

 

He manages to stumble from the pitch, trying to focus his whirring mind on clapping his hands like any good sportsman but then he feels the sickness rising up within him and when the vile warm liquid rises up the column of his throat he can’t stop himself from gagging. He tries to cup his hand over to stop the flow but it’s too late; and he drops to his knees as liquid pours from him. With slightly tear blurred eyes he winces as he acknowledges the pure liquid; his tummy churning at both the sight and the need for food.

 

He’s pulled to his feet and tugged down the tunnel where he finds himself in the arms of medical personnel. Louis is dazed as he’s made to sit down and undergo various tests before concerned voices fill his ears. Blearily he looks around, before his head is gently turned back again, and he sees his family rushing toward him.

 

“Louis! Are you alright?” Jay shouts as she rushes towards him.

 

Louis doesn’t dare open his mouth for fear that he’ll just be sick again; not realising that he has nothing left to throw up. So he tries to nod and he thinks that he must look like one of those nodding dogs that you see people balance on the dashboards of their cars. As he’s nodding he can feel the medical personnel’s hands leaving him and he thinks that means that he’s free to go so he tries to summon the strength he needs to pull himself to his feet. But dizziness catches him just as he’s hauling his bum from the seat and black dots fill his eyes; he’s immediately pushed back down and his body freezes when he hears the word “Hospital.”

 

Hospital. _Hospital._ **Hospital.**

The word is stuck on a loop in his head and he feels his body get pulled upright, carefully and slowly, and then he’s plodding step by step; putting all of his concentration into just moving each foot forward.

 

He can feel the watchful eyes of his mum and Dan, Eleanor and Stan as they keep a distance from him, they must be trying not to crowd him but maybe he’d rather that than them all just staring at him.

 

He’s hurried to a car, his security guards pushed up against him to try and support him walking; and as soon as the car door is slammed shut he sobs.

 

It’s uncontrollable and loud and a lot pathetic in sound but it just explodes from him. He shakes and tries to curl his knees up but before he can his head is tucked into someone’s shoulder and there are a few voices, not calm but clearly trying not to sound too panicky, telling him to calm down.

 

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to block out the world; wishing that today had never happened. He feels sick again and suddenly he’s gagging but there’s nothing to sick up, he’s just heaving and retching and crying and shaking and there’s hands touching him and voices talking to him and it’s just too much.

 

He runs out of tears and his stomach has long been empty so he just sits there and trembles ignoring everything and everyone around him.

 

He feels the car stop and next thing he knows he’s being gently pulled from the car and he opens his eyes weakly to the sight of medical staff waiting with a wheelchair which he is immediately sat in. Then they’re wheeling him somewhere and he can hear the feint pounding of footsteps falling down around him but he just closes his eyes once more; he seemingly doesn’t have the energy not the desire to keep them open.

 

**

 

It’s the irritating beeping sound that tugs at his awareness and he swallows as he returns to consciousness; the pain of the action like a dozen needles jabbing into his throat walls. He blinks his eyes open only for his head to feel incredibly heavy and dizzy and he closes them again unable to face the light overhead.

 

“Louis? You awake love?” His mum; she sounds close and he winces, just wishing he wasn’t awake.

 

“Boo? Sweetie?” Her again, and he still wants to be sick and he can feel the glare of the light burning his eyelids and he senses the eyes watching him.

 

“Ughhh,” He groans; thinking that it says everything he can’t put into words.

 

“Oh love, you’re alright love, can you open your eyes?” It must be his mum that’s stroking the hair back from his forehead and normally he despises her doing things like that but today it feels quite nice so he nudges into it a little; cringing when she coos in response. “One of you go get a nurse please,” Jay’s voice alerts Louis that there must be other people in the room and he just squeezes his eyes closed to try and block it all out.

 

“Mr Tomlinson, could you open your eyes for me please?” A new voice is speaking now and his mum is still bloody stroking his hair and it’s beginning to piss him off now.

 

He does as the stranger asks though and blinks several times in quick succession to accustom his eyes to the bright light. There’s a nurse in scrubs staring back at him from the side of his hospital bed and _wow, he’s in a hospital bed._

 

“Wha’ ‘appened?” His voice is more raspy than usual and it’s sore to talk; he slumps back in his bed in defeat.

 

“I’m going to ask you a few questions Louis and you just have to decide now whether you want to have your family stay or if you’d like us to talk in private?” The nurse asks and Louis suddenly realises what she wants to ask him.

 

“Alone” He whispers and the hand in his hair stops abruptly and his mum stifles a little gasp which he pretends doesn’t hurt to hear.

 

“We’ll be outside then love, glad you’re okay,” Jay runs one final hand stroke through his hair while he tries not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

 

The nurses follows his family and friends as they troop out of the room and clicks the door close behind them before turning around and looking at Louis with something like concern in her eyes.

 

“Louis, you were brought here about forty minutes ago and we ran a couple of tests; you passed out from exhaustion but your vital signs are strong and you seem to be recovering well enough. However,” Louis would roll his eyes at the way the nurse is talking to him as if he’s a child but he knows that it would only make him want to be sick again so he refrains and just settles for biting his lip to stop himself from shouting at her to just say whatever it is she wants to say.

 

“Some of the tests that we have done have shown some signs of your body being malnourished; now as of the moment we are not aware of the full effects this will be having on your body  but we would like to complete a couple more tests so that we can ascertain the extent of what we’re dealing with.”

 

“No,” Louis thinks that sounds like the worst idea imaginable.

 

“Mr Tomlinson, it’s important that if you are, for any reason, dieting obsessively or feeling unable to eat, that you get help and deal with it.” The nurse is talking so bloody loudly and Louis’ nervous now thinking about whether his family waiting outside can hear what’s being said through the door.

 

“No,” Louis isn’t sure how else he can phrase it without shouting at the stupid bloody nurse and telling her to fuck right off.

 

“I’ll leave you to think about it, we do want to keep you in overnight for observation though,” The bloody fucking nurse is fussing over him now, tucking the thin blanket in and sculpting it around his body and just as he’s getting annoyed enough to tell her to leave him alone he feels the warmth.

 

He’s felt so cold lately and only earlier today he’d had to tuck his arms into his football top just to try and get them to feel a little warmer. The blanket that is being wrapped around him now gives him a little warmth and he notices that the shivers are attacking him less violently now.

 

He’s closed his eyes and tries to shrivel his body inwards as much as he can given the wires and tubes that seem to be attached to his form, desperate to not show any acknowledgement of the people that the nurse seems to have invited back into his room.

**

 

When he next opens his eyes he sees Stan slumped over in a chair next to his side and it seems to just be the two of them alone in the room. He pokes his tongue out a little to try and wet his lips but it doesn’t work because his mouth is so fucking dry and he swallows painfully; hissing at the burst of pain.

 

Stan jerks upright at the small sound of movement that Louis makes and the comical action would normally amuse Louis no end but he doesn’t have the strength to move.

 

“Alright mate?” Stan asks, shuffling forward on his chair and covering a small yawn with his hand.

 

“Fine mate,” His voice is unusually curt but he can’t find it within him to care much.

 

“Really?” Stan questions, his eyes dragging their way along Louis, the movement making the latter uncomfortable enough to squirm slightly; an action Stan acknowledges with a sad smile.

 

“Always,” Louis tries harder, even sends Stan a forced smile.

 

Stan doesn’t reply, just shrugs his shoulders a little and gives Louis one last glance before turning his attention to extracting his phone from his jeans pocket.

 

Louis lies there, shivering again at the cold that’s surrounding his body while listening to Stan text away on his phone; the iPhone clicking with each letter pressed.

 

“Boys are asking after you,” Stan murmurs without lifting his eyes from the screen of his phone, meaning that he misses the way Louis jerks at the mention of his band mates.

 

Louis doesn’t give him any reply; there’s nothing to say. Nothing he _can_ say that will make up for the embarrassment he has caused everyone today. He wants the ground to open up and swallow him down, warm him up with the burning heat of Hell and make the memories of today smoulder away into ashes.

 

“People are worried about you Lou,” Stan finally, _finally_ , looks away from his phone but Louis wishes he wouldn’t because it feels horrible to receive such an immensely pitying look from his best friend.

 

“’M fine,” Louis mumbles, wishing he could tug his shaking hands under the blanket but it would probably be too late anyway as Stan’s eyes are fixed upon them now and he knows he’s been caught.

 

“Don’t look fine to me, or any of the other people that saw you today,” And Louis wishes, _wishes_ Stan would just shut the hell up. He doesn’t need to hear any of this, he knows he’s fucked up today and he doesn’t need to be reminded of it.

 

He closes his eyes once more and tries to block out the sound of Stan sighing exasperatedly beside him.

 

There’s an intake of breathe and Louis mentally prepares himself for the shit that’s surely going to spill out of Stan’s mouth right now but then he hears the soft click of heels approaching and he knows that it’s Eleanor who’s stood over him now.

 

“Hey Lou, glad you’re awake, how are you feeling?” Eleanor’s voice is as quiet as it usually is and even though they are nothing more than friends, have never been anything more than friends, will never be anything more than friends, he decides that she’s the exact person he wants to be talking to right now.

 

“Fine El,” He opens his eyes and tries to smile convincingly at her; making sure to avoid looking at Stan who is burning holes in him with his own eyes.

 

            “Now why don’t I believe that, huh?” It’s not an interrogation; Eleanor’s voice is still soft and not accusatory but Louis can hear the serious tone behind the playfully spoken words.

 

            “I’m going for a drink. See you in a bit,” Stan excuses himself hurriedly and Louis tries not to feel too hurt at his friend leaving him without a backward glance.

 

            “I brought you some tea, the nurses said you’re allowed a cup, I made sure it was Yorkshire’s finest just for you.” Louis gives her a real smile this time when she seemingly magics a paper cup of tea for him. “I also brought you a muffin, chocolate chip; I know they’re your favourite.” She’s smiling at him, all pretty and nice, white teeth shining and Louis just feels sad. She’s beautiful, really stunningly pretty; she’d be a catch for any straight boy. But Louis isn’t straight; he’s with Harry and they have to hide it away and instead his management _pay_ this girl. He has to pretend to be in love with her and its not fair; it’s not fair to him or Harry or Eleanor. All of them are in too deep and sometimes, more often than not recently in fact, he has found himself thinking that it would be a whole lot easier if he was just straight. 

 

            “Thanks but I’m not hungry,” He rasps out and ignores the knowing look in her soft eyes.

 

            “You sure? I’ll just leave it here for you to have later then,” Eleanor places it on the table that’s next to the head of his bed and they both know the muffin will remain there until someone other than Louis removes it.

 

            “Heard they were wanting to keep you in overnight, can I get you anything? I can go back to the hotel and get your bag or something?” Eleanor is stood awkwardly, twisting her hands together in front of her, playing the silver rings on her fingers.

 

“No thanks, not staying,” Louis’ not been surer of anything in a long time but he knows that he isn’t staying in this bed overnight.

 

“Louis…” Eleanor begins but stops when Louis just shakes his head miserably.

 

“Don’t,” Louis warns tiredly.

 

The pair are silent, no more words spoken between them and the only noise that fills the room is the repetitive tick-tock of the clock that sits on the wall.

 

Louis’ mind wanders, as it always does these days, and he thinks about how many people he’s let down, how disappointed he is in himself, how pathetic he is and how ashamed he is of his actions. He had worked so hard, tried so hard but he’s failed spectacularly and he never wants to go back into public again. Maybe he can run away, change his name or get a makeover and convince everyone that he’s not actually Louis Tomlinson.

 

“Louis? Louis love? Wake up honey,” His mum again; right next to his ear and Louis hadn’t even realised he had drifted off to sleep until he blinks open his eyes and notices the sky is noticeably darker outside.

 

“Uh?” Not very articulate but he finds it extremely difficult to care in the slightest.

 

“Louis, sweetheart, there’s someone here to talk to you, let’s sit you up,” Jay’s doing all the work and Louis’ still sleep filled body is tugged upright and he’s propped back on some pillows.

 

There’s a man in a suit sat in the chair just staring at Louis and it unnerves him; makes him wonder just how long his mum and this man have been watching him.

 

“Mr Tomlinson, my name is Nigel Robson, I’m a Doctor here working with patients who show signs of eating disorders…”

 

Louis doesn’t hear anything after that, it’s like his brain is full of white noise and he closes his eyes; pressing them tightly shut as if that will stop his ears working.

 

His mum is back to stroking his hair again and Louis tries to shake her hand off but he doesn’t seem to possess the strength needed; when did that happen… He’d been running around the football pitch earlier.

 

“Louis, I think you need to listen to him love, he’s only trying to help you. That’s just what we all want sweetheart.”

 

“’M fine,” Maybe he’s a broken record, either that or a compulsive liar but he definitely _definitely_ doesn’t have any problems with eating. All anyone needs to do is take one look at the size of him and they’d agree.

 

“Love, you’re not fine, you’re wasting away, and you’re so skinny and…”

 

“Mr Tomlinson, please, just listen to what I have to say and then we can go from there, that’s all I ask,” The Doctor interrupts Jay and his mum just goes back to stroking his hair.

 

Louis doesn’t respond, he just shuts his eyes and decides that it isn’t worth the fight; he should just let the man speak and he doesn’t have to listen. Maybe he’ll just lean into his mum’s hand again and chase its warmth.

 

The Doctor is speaking once more, words floating through the air and despite his efforts to not listen Louis can’t help but hear some of the words, words like “anorexia” and “starving” and “underweight.”

 

Louis doesn’t realise the moment the man stops speaking but it dawns on him, after his ears don’t pick up any sounds, that nobody is talking anymore. Then he feels the weight of people’s eyes upon him and he shivers under their stare.

 

**

 

Louis’ fuming, he’s tired and hungry but he’s been doing so well to not eat lately, he just wants another cup of tea; he’d probably do quite a lot for a cup of tea right now. He’s angry at himself for being such a failure and a disappointment to so many; his mum had left in a grump after he’d refused to get any help. But he doesn’t need any help; at least not the kind that’s being offered to him.

 

If anyone wants to help him they should just let him waste away; like he has been so desperately trying to for so long.

 

The Doctor, Doctor Robson, had also left but not before looking at Louis with sad eyes.

 

Louis feels sick, it’s burning up inside of him and he wants it out, he knows that they’ve pumped some fluids into him while he’s been in hospital and he can feel them swishing in his stomach so he tries to heave them out. He does so quietly, having learnt the art to near-silent heaving a long time ago in the bathroom on the tour bus, because he doesn’t want to alert anyone to what he’s doing.

 

He splutters a little, little flecks of spit mixed with flem and bile dripping on his chin and some reaching his chest. But there’s nothing much he can pull from his stomach and he quickly becomes frustrated, raising a shaking hand to pummel into his thigh making him wince with the pain of his own weak hit.

 

He stops instantly when he catches the door handle being pressed down; having always remained vigilant to his surroundings when he does this.

 

“We’re going back to the hotel now love, visiting hours are over, but we’ll be back first thing in the morning and they say you should be alright to come back with us then.” Jay smiles; tiny and small but its there all the same.

 

“Nonono, mum, no, I can’t stay here, I won’t stay here,” Maybe he sounds like a frightened little boy because his mum’s suddenly sad and there are tears in her eyes and Louis’ caused that; he’s made her unhappy.

 

“Please, mum, please, I don’t want to stay, please let me go with you, pleasepleaseplease,” He’s begging and it’s pathetic but he’ll do anything to get her to take him with them.

 

“Love,” Jay’s fighting to keep herself composed, “It’s best for you to stay here and let them look after you tonight; let them do their jobs, please son.”

 

“No!” Louis shouts and it’s weak with no fight in it but it visibly startles his mum regardless.

 

“It’s best for you to stay here sweetie,” Jay begins again but is cut off by Louis who’s becoming more and more angry as time goes by.

 

“No! No! NO! I’m not staying here, I will NOT stay here, I’m leaving.” Louis’ already pulling the wires from his body and Jay rushes to stop him but he shoves her away with a shaky hand.

 

He’s free within moments and plants his feet on the floor only to get a sudden head rush and he has to grab hold of the mattress to prevent himself from toppling forwards.

 

“Louis! Oh God Lou please just stop for a moment, just stop,” Jay’s hugging him now and he’d forgotten what it’s like to be hugged like this.

 

“Mum,” He can’t help the tears; they just pour form his eyes and soak his mum’s top and she just pulls him closer and wraps him up safely in his arms and he wants to disappear; he doesn’t want to ever face the world again.

 

“Louis love, please, stay here and just let them help you,” Jay pleads into his hair; her own tears dampening the feathered strands.

 

“No, no, I can’t, mum, please,” Louis begs and his voice is gruff and muffled but he knows that he’s been heard.

 

Jay just hugs him tight and starts to hum and Louis lets the sound of it lull him and take him back, take him out of the now, and back to when he was just a little boy living in Doncaster with his mum and sisters.

 

The thought makes him sob and the arms around him get tighter and the humming gets louder and he presses his eyes closed tighter and wishes aloud for everything to just _stop._

 

**

 

He knows that nobody’s happy with him but he’s got what he wanted so he doesn’t really give a damn.

 

He just curls into a smaller ball and pulls the blankets tighter around him and snuffles his face into the warm sheets.

 

They’re on the bus; even though they had arrived by plane the day before for the match it seems that someone has been able to arrange one of the buses to collect them and he’s curled himself up in a bunk and drawn the curtain shut to hide away from everyone.

 

He hears voices floating down from the lounge where everyone is sat; no doubt discussing him and his pathetic self. He wants to cry but he has no tears left and he’d kill to be sick right now but there’s nothing for him to heave up even though his tummy feels so full.

 

He can’t sleep, it evades him and so he can do no more than wrap himself up as much as he can to try and get warm. His eyes are closed when he hears the curtain of his bunk being drawn open but he doesn’t look to see who it is. He just keeps his breath steady and pretends to be asleep as someone presses their hand to his cheek, their touch lingering slightly on his cold skin.

 

“We’re going to get you better Lou, I promise,” Jay sounds composed but the tear that splats on his face tells an entirely different story.

 

He tugs his lower lip into his mouth and bites down on it to prevent himself from exclaiming that there’s nothing bloody wrong with him and therefore nothing for anyone to fucking fix.

 

He manages to stem off the expletive filled rant that he’s desperate to shout and it’s probably a good thing really as he doesn’t think he would even have the energy to actually say everything he wants to; and eventually Jay leaves, her footsteps getting quieter the further away she walks.

 

Louis just lies there, curled into as small a ball as he possibly can, as the bus trundles along; and he doesn’t know where it’s taking him but he hopes it’s somewhere far away. Far away.

 

**

 

He wakes up to feel himself surrounded by warmth which is very unusual as he’s been cold for so long now. His eyes are sore as he shakily rubs them free of sleep and he’s more than a little surprised to find that he’s been placed in his old child hood bed. The familiar walls are such a comfort to him that he can’t help but smile happily and curl up further into the blankets.

 

A cup on his bedside table catches his eye and he blinks before reaching out with a trembling hand to retrieve the steaming mug of tea that someone must have left for him.

 

He gulps some down, relishing the sting as it burns at his raw throat, and he cups his hands around it to try and get them warm.

 

The sight of his old computer catches his eye and he instantly gathers up his duvet and shuffles over to his desk; powering it on and sipping his tea.

 

His knee aches; he’d forgotten about that after the adventure of his hospital visit and he rolls up his pyjamas, cringing when he realises that someone has obviously changed his clothing while he was unaware.

 

There’s a bandage rolled around his knee and he prods at it, feeling that it’s a little swollen and he can see the bruises that are already discolouring his skin.

 

The computer beeps and he stops poking his knee to turn his attention to the monitor; not hesitating in the slightest to load up his twitter.

 

His mentions are going crazy, thousands of people writing about him and the first few are ingrained in his mind. People saying that they wish the player had taken out both of his knees, some saying that he’d been taken to hospital for having been stabbed in the tunnel after leaving the pitch, others saying that he’s now unable to play in the Doncaster match because he’s out for 6 weeks thanks to having a broken vagina.

 

Words and words, all insults and unkind comments and they should hurt but instead they just make him feel numb. He can’t stop reading, scrolling through screen after screen of tweets, letting the words paint themselves on the inside of his eyes.

 

Once he’s read enough, although, he isn’t sure he could ever read enough. But once he’s felt that there’s no other variation for people to insult him he decides to go to his family and friend’s twitters; see what they have to say about the matter.

 

That’s what hurts the most; there’s **nothing**.

 

Sure, there’s a tweet off his mum, something about him being fine and watching television with Stan and Eleanor and that’s it.

 

_Because Nobody Cares._

 

And fuck, the voice is loud, it’s so loud in Louis’ head and he whimpers, slamming his outstretched finger into the button of the monitor and powering it off. He clambers to his feet and launches the half full cup of tea at his wall, watching as the china and liquid slop to the ground.

 

There’s stamping of feet but Louis doesn’t stop; he attacks everything he can, rips the posters from his walls, the CDs and DVDs tumble to the floor as he wracks the shelves, his bookcase toppling as he bats at it angrily.

 

Then someone is hauling him away, dragging him away from causing anymore destruction and he’s yelling at them to let him go, stop touching him, to not touch his fat and his belly and his pathetic self.

 

It’s only when he hears the quietly whispered, “Oh Lou” that he starts crying and he can’t decide whether he wants to worm his way into the arms around him or fight his way out of them, and in the end he just sags and let’s Niall rock his body gently from side to side.

 

**

 

He’s the warmest he’s felt in months when he next feels the tugs of consciousness and he can’t help but squirm his body slightly to seek a more comfortable position; wincing as his fingers prod into his chest.

 

“Louis?” There’s someone else next to him, in fact their arms are curled around him and he isn’t quite sure how he hadn’t noticed that straight away. He tries to shift away; uncomfortable with how intimately they’re touching him.

 

“Heyyyy, shhh, you’re fine, it’s just me babes, it’s Zayn,” And _huh,_ Louis could have sworn it’d been Niall who had hugged him earlier.

 

It’s all too much for his brain to deal with; so he doesn’t.

 

He just blinks hazy eyes open to stare straight into the brown orbs of Zayn and offers him a small smile along with a weak, “’M fine,” before closing his eyes once more.

 

“That’s good babes, I didn’t actually ask though,” Zayn chuckles and just hugs Louis tighter, actually holding his arms down when he tries to squirm away.

 

Louis doesn’t fight back, he’s too tired and can’t even summon the energy to glare at Zayn so he just exhales unhappily and hugs his head down towards his chest to hide himself away, annoyed when Zayn just rests his chin upon the top of his head.

 

**

 

All he seems to do these days is sleep and yet it’s still never enough. He’s always tired; it clings to his bones and makes him feel weary beyond his years. All this sleep and he knows it isn’t right; he knows there’s something wrong but he just chooses to ignore it, childishly thinking that if he keeps up the pretence of there being nothing wrong then it will become the reality as well.

 

There are whispers around him, muffled hushed voices from all around him and now that he thinks about it, it feels as though he’s low down, as though he’s lying on the floor. The television is on and it sounds much higher than he and as there isn’t a TV in his bedroom he surmises that he must have been moved without his knowledge. Just the thought of someone having to heave his body around has him whimpering and at the sound of it all of the whispers stop.

 

“Lou?” And _fuck,_ **fuckfuckfuck,** he’s missed that voice. The one that he loves more than any other, the one that sounds like syrup, the one that hasn’t sung him to sleep in far too long. His heart aches and he whines, not intentionally, but he can’t help it. He just plucks his arms out slightly, not wanting to appear desperate but also wishing to indicate what he wants.

 

Harry understands, sometimes he thinks that Harry knows him better than he knows himself. Within moments he’s embraced and there’s curls tickling his ears and Harry smells of so many unfamiliar things; travel, people and places Louis hasn’t been but he also smells of **_home._**

 

“Hazza,” Louis tries not to wail like a baby but he can’t help it, he’s so sad and he’s felt so alone for so long.

 

            “Heyyyy, babe, I’ve missed you love,” Harry’s pressing kisses to his closed eyelids, peppering his nose with sweet little pecks, littering his jaw with the feelings of home and love and everything that Louis dreams of.

 

            “Harry,” He’s like a broken record stuck on the same track; he seems to have forgotten how to form sentences.

 

            There are a few weak chuckles from around the room that make Louis jump and realise that they are _still_ other people with them. Harry just hushes him and holds him close and continues to murmur promises of love and press the feeling of home into his skin.

 

            It takes time, an indeterminable amount to Louis, until he finally has enough energy to open his eyes and face the situation he’s in.

 

            His eyes flicker and blink and then he’s smiling uncontrollably when he sees that he’s surrounded by his boys. His band mates are all snuggled around him, they’re upon mattresses on the floor, blankets and duvets and pillows everywhere and there are tea cups full and steaming on a tray; right next to a pile of freshly homemade cookies.

 

            “Hey love” Harry kisses him again, this time on the lips and it takes Louis by surprise for a moment; having become unused to being kissed like this because he’s worked so valiantly to avoid Harry’s touch for so long.

 

            But then he’s kissing back, it’s weak and tentative, as if they’re sharing their first kiss all over again, but then, Louis gets used to it. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to press his lips to Harry’s own and he doesn’t understand _how_ that’s humanly possible because they’re **home.**

 

            Eventually and sadly, they have to separate in order to pull in a few breaths of air, but their eyes are linked, green and blue settling together and Louis thinks that he’s forgotten what it’s all about.

 

            He’s become so wrapped up in trying to be thin and trying to achieve all of his dreams so quickly that he’s forgotten the simple things in life.

 

            He likes to believe that he’s grounded – not having been sucked in by the celebrity lifestyle and he’s proud of that, _he is._

            But he hadn’t realised, until now, that his devotion to working hard has nearly cost him so much.

 

            “I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry,” He’s crying into Harry’s chest, one hand curling in the boys thin t-shirt while the other just rests on his turned hip.

 

            “You haven’t done anything wrong Louis,” It’s Liam who moves closer to him now, snuggling up next to Harry in front of him and looking into his eyes.

 

            “I have, I’m sorry, I --” He’s trembling, actually trembling and he sees Niall in the corner, eyes sad and he feels his heart ache when he realises that he’s responsible for making the most carefree boy so sad.

 

            “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m --” He repeats before his spare hand is tugged into Liam’s and held tightly.

 

            “Louis, you have _nothing_ to be sorry for, absolutely _nothing._ Okay?” Liam is smiling, small and not a completely happy one but it’s something other than a sad frown for once and Louis stops trembling.

 

            “We’re here now babe, we’re going to get you better,” Harry starts and gives Louis a stern look when he sees the older boy open his mouth to interrupt. “You have a problem babe, you’re too thin and we should have noticed, _I_ should have noticed, you’ve been working yourself so hard and not been looking after yourself properly. But you’re alright, okay, you’re here, we’re here and it’s all alright.” Harry smiles, expression fond and Louis’ heart is thumping loudly in his chest; with each beat it screams **homehomehome.**

“The match… I’m sorry, I – I --” Louis is sorry, he wants them all to know that he’s aware that he’s let them down and he never meant to.

 

            “The match wasn’t your fault Louis, you can’t control the crowd! They were fucking middle aged old men that were going off at you. You did it for fucking **charity**. You played so well Lou. So _so_ fucking well and we’re **proud**!” Niall’s crawling over to him now and running a tugging hand through his hair and his stubby nails scratch slightly at Louis’ scalp but he loves it and nuzzles into the boy’s hand slightly.

 

            “Lou, you played amazingly, your knee’s okay but you collapsed because you had no energy mate.” Zayn’s speaking now, voice soft and calm and so _Zaynlike_ that Louis can’t help but watch the boy. “You collapsed because you’ve not eaten in too long.” Zayn’s sad at the end of speaking and he joins his three other band mates where they’re huddled around Louis on the mattress covered floor.

 

            “We’ve arranged for you to go see someone, stay at this place, we’re going to come too, means we can have a nice chilled holiday just the five of us for a few days. Going to get you eating a little again babe and we’ll work through this.” Harry presses his finger to Louis’ lips when the boy tries to refuse. “No, babe, this is it, we’ve spoken with someone and they say that we can do this, do it ourselves, the five of us…”

 

            “There’s nothing wrong with me!” Louis shouts, voice hoarse and he tries to heave himself out of the boy huddle but he’s too weak and they all just move in closer and now they’re all touching him somehow.

 

            “Boo, it’s either _this_ , or a facility… Your choice love,” Harry may be whispering but the words sound like screams to Louis.

 

            Louis just looks at them, Harry, Zayn, Liam and Niall, all surrounding him and touching him and being there for him and he loves them in that instant, maybe more than he ever has before.

 

            And it doesn’t take much thought for him to work out what he should do. But he’s too stubborn to admit it so he just continues to blink at them all, silently, biting his lip to try and keep the sobs at bay.

 

            “Okay then, that’s good, thank you Lou, thank you,” Harry’s peppering more kisses over his face and Louis has no idea why he’s being thanked but he loves having his boy so close to him and the others are looking on at them with so much bloody fond in his eyes that he’s not sure why he ever wanted to push them away.

 

            Liam shuffles around behind him and tugs him upwards into a sitting position before gently tipping him against Harry who wraps a long arm around him.

 

            Zayn and Niall have also moved away and Louis isn’t sure what they’re doing until they both turn back around; Zayn holding a mug of tea and Niall holding a cookie.

 

            Both are offered to him silently and he takes them the same way; staring at both, wondering when he became afraid of food and drink.

 

            It’s the weight of their stares, or it could be the weight of the love he feels, but he is raising the cups to his lips and taking a small sip of the wonderfully warm tea within.

 

            Then he looks around, each of the boys smiling encouragingly back and he can’t disappoint them. He still doesn’t realise that he never actually disappointed **anyone**. The cookie is slightly crumbly but it smells amazing and it’s still slightly warm; the milk chocolate chips having melted slightly onto his fingers.

 

            But he takes a bite. A small one but a bite nevertheless and it hurts his throat as it slides down and it’s already sitting heavy within him and he is instantaneously desperate to puke it back out but then he feels their touches and smiles once more. So he keeps taking small bites, chewing relentlessly so as to pummel the cookie into tiny crumbs and taking sips of his tea every time he swallows.

 

            And Louis has never felt more loved, or more at home, than when he hears their whispers, “We’re so **proud of you**.”


End file.
